


What Remains

by straightforwardly



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Roleswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:44:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/pseuds/straightforwardly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War is brewing. Alanna does what she can.</p><p>(Roleswap!AU where Alanna is the Rogue and George is the knight-in-training.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Remains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coppercrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coppercrow/gifts).



> Many thanks to Morbane for the beta! Your advice was incredibly helpful. ♥
> 
> Weiryn, I hope you enjoy this!
> 
>  **October 2017 Update:** A [podfic version of this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571116) (made by reena_jenkins) now exists, for anyone who might prefer that format!

Alanna frowned deeply as she stared down at the scrap of parchment that served as a map. 

From his position beside her, Thom made a soft humming sound. “Well, well,” he said, his eyes scanning over the map. “It seems that this odd fancy of yours wasn’t so strange after all, sister.”

She brushed her fingers against the tiny red and blue marks scattered over the surface of the map. “Twenty legions,” she said softly. “And that’s not including the knights.” 

Her rogues had thought nothing of the rumors of tension between Tusaine and Tortall. The informants she’d sent to gather information had thought similarly about her concerns. But this—

This meant war. _True_ war; such preparations couldn’t be toppled with a single skirmish. The Tusaines had clearly been planning this for some time.

And Tortall was unprepared.

Alanna let out her breath in a low hiss. “We can’t keep this to ourselves,” she said, straightening up from the table. “We need to tell someone.”

Thom glanced up at her with an indulgent smile. “Do we?” 

“Of course!” she snapped.

Thom shrugged, unperturbed by her outburst. “I fail to see how it’s our concern.”

Alanna resisted the urge to kick something. “Of course it is! This isn’t just some noble mess— this could affect all of Tortall!”

Thom laughed softly. “Very well, dear sister. Your wish is my command.” He paused, then suggested, “Myles, then? He’s decent enough, and he’ll have some sway in the palace.”

His capitulation came too easily; Alanna knew better than to think that she had truly convinced him. Her anger wavered, then faded away with a sigh. Thom was Thom— she didn’t know why she still allowed him to rile her up. 

She turned her attention to his suggestion. 

“That won’t work,” she said, shaking her head. “He hasn’t been by for a while now— and I don’t know if I want to risk asking him to come, what with the Provost’s recent crackdown. It won’t go well for him if he’s seen here.”

Thom made a face. Unlike Alanna, he had little respect for the Lord Provost— and he felt little need to hide it, particularly now that the latest in the series of the Provost’s recent, stringent crackdowns had come at such an inconvenient time.

Alanna chewed on her lip, thinking. 

Thom cocked his head in the direction of the door. “What about young George?” he asked after another moment, sounding vaguely amused. 

Alanna frowned at him. “It’s the same with him as it is with Myles— he shouldn’t be seen here now.”

If anything, Thom only became more amused at this. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll be a matter of asking him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Thom nodded in the direction of the door. “I mean that he’s out there right now.”

“...Does he want to get kicked out of knight training _that_ badly?” 

Thom chuckled. “Apparently so,” he said.

After rolling up the map and hiding it away in her clothing, she stepped out into the dim, smoky common room, with Thom as a shadow at her heel. Was it her, or was it somewhat less noisy than usual? Alanna frowned, briefly distracted; she couldn’t allow the Provost’s latest crackdown to have _too_ much of an effect on morale. 

Then she saw George, and those thoughts fled. 

He was sitting in a circle of forgers and thieves as though he was born to be there. Marek, Scholar, Lightfingers, Red Nell… One of the boys said something that set the others laughing. George joined in, his eyes merry.

On occasion, Alanna had cause to sneak up to the castle. She never saw him so content there, surrounded by his peers, as he was here in the Dancing Dove.

Marek saw her first, and gave her a sloppy, two-fingered salute— his version of a joke. George looked up at the movement; his eyes lit up when he saw her. Immediately, he jumped to his feet, and swept into a low, overly-elaborate bow.

Alanna rolled her eyes at them both, though she couldn’t quite contain her smile. “And what do you think you’re doing here?” she asked George, crossing her arms across her chest.

George grinned back at her, straightening up again. “You can’t expect me to stay cooped up with all those stuffy nobles _all_ of the time, can you?”

“You’re a noble yourself,” she pointed out, but he waved that off.

“Not here, I’m not.” His voice was laughing, but when he looked up, his eyes were warm. 

Alanna’s mouth went dry. Lately, he’d been looking at her like that more and more.

Nothing good could come of it. If she were smart, she’d put an end to it now, nip it in the bud before it became something messy and complicated.

She’d done it before. This should be no different.

From behind her, Thom cleared his throat. It was only a slight sound, but it was enough to remind her of their earlier conversation. 

“George,” she said, half-relieved at the escape, and unwilling to examine why. “Could I speak with you for a moment? There is something I would ask of you.”

George turned serious in an instant. “Of course,” he said, and let her draw him after her.

As she neared the door, she heard the familiar sounds of a small scuffle breaking out. Alanna glanced back at Thom. No words passed between them, but he broke away and headed towards the disturbance.

George turned and watched this with a small smile. “It’s hard not to pity them,” he observed. 

Alanna had to agree. Her rogues loved and respected her— but there were few who did not fear Thom, and for good cause. 

Once she and George were securely ensconced in her chamber, Alanna began to speak. “I have information about Tusaine,” she said, bluntly, “and I need someone to get it to the palace for me.”

As she spoke, she took the map out from where she’d hidden it in her clothing, and handed it over to him. While he looked over it, she quickly sketched out the situation.

When she finished, George let out a short huff of laughter. “Damn. You couldn’t let me be the bearer of good news?” Then, more seriously, he said, “You know I’ll do it for you. But I’m not sure how’ll I explain how I know this— or if anyone will listen.”

Alanna had the answer for that one prepared. “Do you know Myles? Of Olau?”

George nodded. “He taught us history, and law.” Suddenly, he flashed her a quick grin. “I also hear that someone who looks very similar to him enjoys drinking and pontificating with Scholar an’ the boys.” 

Alanna smiled. “That’s the one.”

George’s good humor faded into something more thoughtful. “So he’s—”

“I trust him,” Alanna said, simply. She didn’t see the need to explain further.

George nodded, and began folding up the map again. “Then that’s enough for me. I’ll get your message to him.” As he tucked the map safely away in his clothing, he asked, “Is there anything else you need from me?”

She shook her head. “Just get that information to the castle. And soon.”

* * *

For all that the court often seemed unbelievably inefficient, Alanna had to give them this: when there was a real threat, they moved quickly. The next several days were filled with a flurry of movement over at the castle, and the excitement was not unmarked in the town proper. All of Corus was in a buzz, as they prepared themselves for the reality of a war. 

Then, the day before the initial forces were scheduled to depart, Duke Gareth fell from his horse, and broke his leg in three places. 

Alanna’s informants let her know about the accident almost immediately. She was musing upon this— with no small amount of uneasiness— when George slipped through the entrance of the Dancing Dove again.

Alanna started, then stood. “What are you doing here?” she demanded as she crossed the room to reach him. “I thought they’d have you running from sunrise to sundown. Won’t they be missing you?”

“Things are a right mess up at the castle. I took advantage of the confusion to slip out.” George grinned at her, though his eyes were oddly serious. “You didn’t really think I’d leave without saying goodbye?”

She cleared her throat. “I suppose it saves me a trip to the castle,” she said, suddenly feeling wrongfooted. 

She led him to her quarters; when the door shut, George looked around. “Your brother’s not here,” he said with some surprise. 

“He’s not,” Alanna agreed. Thom had slipped out some hours before, to look into rumors about someone trying to hawk some not-quite-legal magic books. Knowing Thom, it would be quite some time before he returned— and even if he did, there was a good chance that she wouldn’t see much of him for the next few days. There were few things that could draw Thom from her side, but magic was the most powerful of those.

George chuckled. “And here I thought he was your shadow.” He did not ask where Thom had gone, which Alanna was grateful for. Thom’s secrets were not for her to share. 

Alanna leaned against the table in the center of the room, and changed the subject. “I hear you’re to be leaving with the initial force.”

“Keeping tabs on me now?” He sounded more pleased than she thought he’d be at that.

“Of course,” she said, confused. “I always look out for my own.”

George looked startled, then let out a quiet laugh. “And here I only wanted to come to say goodbye,” he said, half to himself.

Alanna frowned. “What do you mean?” 

George smiled down at her. “Battles are a dangerous thing, you know. I couldn’t leave without a word.”

Something quickened in Alanna’s chest. “It’s not like you to be so maudlin, George. Besides, that wasn’t what I was asking, and you know it.” 

His smile turned wry. Before she could say anything more, he reached out, and took one of her hands in his. His skin felt warm against her own. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear what I have to say,” he said, softly.

Alanna stilled. She stared, first at their clasped hands, and then into George’s eyes, searching for even the faintest trace of humor.

She didn’t find it.

Her voice returned to her. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. She didn’t pull her hand away from his, though it occurred to her that she probably should. “This is just some passing fancy—”

George’s laugh sounded choked. “I assure you, it isn’t.”

“And it’d never work,” Alanna continued, ignoring his protest, “You’re a noble— you can’t tell me your peers would delight in you courting a thief. And that’s not even touching on your age.”

“You’re more noble than I’ll ever be—”

“This is no time for wordplay,” she started, but he ignored her as she had not spoken. 

“An’ I’m not so young as all that,” he continued over her, stubbornly. “You can’t tell me that there aren’t younger marriages in the city, or that you’ve never heard of matches with greater differences in age.”

“So I’m the decrepit old man to your comely maiden?” Alanna asked, trying to keep her voice dry. Her heart was racing; she didn’t know how George didn’t feel her hand trembling.

George looked at her with a gaze so fond that she found herself at a loss for words. “Never decrepit,” he said, then smiled, teasing. “Though it’s nice to know you find me comely.”

“ _George_.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Look, I’m not trying to push you.” He ran his thumb across the back of her hand; her skin burned where he touched it. “Just— think about it when I’m gone, alright?”

Alanna opened her mouth, wanting to say _I’ll do no such thing_. But the words wouldn’t form. 

He stepped closer to her, so close that they shared the same breath. When she didn’t move, he bent down, and kissed her, gentle and brief.

When he stepped back, he finally let go of her hand. It swung down to hang uselessly at her side. She resisted the urge to touch her fingers to her lips; she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. 

When he spoke, his voice was rough. She didn’t dare look at his eyes. “I’ll let myself out, ‘fore you think better of it and stab me.”

“That might be a good idea.” Her voice shook, despite her best efforts to keep a level tone.

George nodded, then turned away from her. He’d just reached the door when she spoke again. “George?”

He turned to look at her.

“If you die, I’ll _definitely_ stab you.”

He grinned, and just like that, he was the George that she’d always known. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, before vanishing through the door. 

Her hand still burned, where his skin had touched hers, and she thought of how it had felt when he kissed her.

Then she shook her head. She was being just as silly as he was. It was nothing truly serious— and even if it was, nothing could come of it. He’d do well to learn to set his gaze at his own level. Determinedly, she pushed the thoughts out of her mind. 

It was only then that Alanna realized that she’d completely forgotten to ask George about the Duke’s accident. Briefly, an uneasy feeling swept through her, coiling in her stomach.

She shook her head again, annoyed at herself. It was likely nothing more than what it seemed— an accident. And even if it wasn’t, it likely was nothing more than a petty power play by some noble. The timing was a little suspect, but in the end, it was a noble’s problem and would have a noble’s solution. Certainly, it was nothing for the King of the Rogues to concern herself with.

Nor was the war, not anymore. That was in the hands of King Roald, now; she’d played her part. 

For now, she needed to push these thoughts aside, and see how her rogues were holding up. It wouldn’t do to let them get too restless, or let them think that she no longer cared for their concerns. 

She’d become the Rogue for a reason, after all. She still recalled the chaos that came about when the Rogue was ill-suited to the task; it was why she had been so determined to take that role for herself in the first place. What use would all of her effort be if she didn’t take the time to settle their quarrels, to keep them away from the gallows?

She’d spent far too much time on other concerns this past week. It was time to pay her people their dues.

With a new burst of energy, she pushed herself up from where she was leaning against the table, and headed towards the door. Everything else— George, the war— could wait. 

She had a duty to uphold.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] What Remains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571116) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins), [straightforwardly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/pseuds/straightforwardly)




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